Episode 18: Officer Involved Shooting
by heisey
Summary: Marty has Jim's back, but there are repercussions.
1. Chapter 1

Episode 18: "Officer-involved Shooting"

_Prologue_

Officers Karla Price and Al Martin approached the homeless man stretched out on a bench in Tompkins Square Park.

"Oh, jeez," Karla said to her partner, "It's Jerry." The homeless man was a fixture at the park during warm weather, leaving its confines only for meals at a nearby church. As they got closer, they could smell his pungent odor. He looked larger than he actually was, because of the multiple layers of dirty and stained clothes he wore. Karla and Al knew he was about 45 years old, but he looked much older, at least 60. As they approached, he sat up and rubbed a hand through his matted beard.

"How ya doin', Jerry?" Al asked him.

Jerry responded with a blank look.

"Jerry? _Jerry?_" Al raised his voice. Jerry seemed to notice him for the first time. He didn't answer, but began muttering under his breath, apparently to himself. Al couldn't make out the words.

Karla walked closer to Jerry. "You doin' okay?" she asked him in a soft, coaxing tone. "We just want to make sure you're okay," she told him, "because someone here in the park thought you weren't acting like yourself."

"No, no, I'm okay," Jerry finally responded. He began muttering again. Karla was now close enough to make out what he was saying. "The day, the day, the One, coming, need a sign, a sign."

"What's he saying?" Al asked.

Karla shook her head. "He's not making any sense – something about a day is coming and needing a sign." She turned back to Jerry.

"You're not taking your meds, are you?" she asked.

Jerry shook his head. "No meds. Don't need them."

Al spoke up. "Are you thinking of hurting yourself, Jerry?"

"No, no."

"Are you thinking of hurting someone else?"

"No, no," Jerry repeated, shaking his head again.

"Are you taking care of yourself – going over to the church for your meals?"

"Yeah, meals," Jerry affirmed, nodding his head.

Al beckoned to Karla, and they stepped away from Jerry to confer.

Keeping her voice low, Karla said, "What do you think, Al? Do we need to take him to mental health?"

"No," Al replied. "He's answering our questions, he says he isn't thinking of hurting himself or anyone else, and he's going over to the church for his meals. He doesn't meet the criteria to take him in."

"But he's not taking his meds, and he's definitely in some other reality," Karla pointed out.

"Yeah," Al agreed, "but he's not a danger to himself or others. If we take him to mental health, they'll just kick him back out onto the street. If he's not dangerous and can basically take care of himself, they can't keep him there against his will or force him to take his meds."

Karla sighed. "You're right, I guess. I just don't have a good feeling about this."

_Day One – Two Days Later_

_Scene One _

"Good mornin', Jim," Karen greeted her partner as he and Hank walked into the squad room.

"Mornin'," Jim replied. As he reached his desk, Lt. Fisk came out of his office.

"Where's Russo and Selway?" Fisk asked.

"Getting coffee," Karen told him.

As she answered Fisk, Tom and Marty appeared in the hallway carrying their coffee cups. When they were at their desks, Fisk sat on the desk opposite Jim's and addressed the squad. "Nothing new came in overnight. What do you have going today?"

Marty responded for them. "We were planning to do a follow-up canvass in Tompkins Square Park, see if we can come up with anything on Wilson." "Wilson" was 'Fast Eddie' Wilson, a gang member and drug dealer who had been found in the park the day before, dead from a gunshot wound to his head.

"Okay," Fisk told them. "Hit it."

The detectives met at the north end of the park, then split up. "We'll take the east side of the park," Tom volunteered.

"Okay, we'll start here and take the west side," Karen said.

An hour later, Karen and Jim had made their way to the southwest corner of the park, with nothing to show for their efforts. No one would admit to seeing or hearing anything, or even knowing Wilson. Jim frowned in frustration. "Is there anyone we haven't talked to yet?" he asked.

"Well," Karen noticed Jerry sitting on a nearby bench. "There's a guy on the bench over there. We haven't talked to him yet. He looks like he spends a lot of time here. But I gotta tell you, Jim, he looks pretty out of it. I don't think we're going to get any useful information out of him."

"I'll give it a shot," Jim told her. "Why don't you go find Tom and Marty, see if they found out anything?"

"Okay," Karen agreed. "Marty's over by the playground. I'll check in with him, then find Tom." As she walked away, she told him, "The bench is about fifteen feet away, two o'clock."

Fifty yards away, Marty was questioning two teenaged gang wannabes when Karen came up to him. "Find out anything?" she asked, as they stepped aside to talk.

"Nada," he said, shaking his head. "Either no one knows anything, or they're too scared of 'Fast Eddie's' homies to talk." He looked over at Jim and jerked his head in Jim's direction. "You think that's a good idea, leaving him on his own like that?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Jim can take care of himself."

Marty shrugged. "Whatever." But he decided to keep an eye on Jim, just the same.

"Where's Tom?" Karen asked.

"Last I saw him, he was over by the chessboards," Marty told her.

"Okay, see you later," Karen said, heading in that direction.

After Karen left, Jim ordered Hank forward, toward the bench. When he noticed an acrid odor, he knew he must be getting close. He heard muttering coming from the direction of the bench, but couldn't make out any words. Karen was right, he thought, we're not going to get anything useful from this guy. But who knows? Maybe he'll have a lucid moment. He spoke to Jerry. "I'm Detective Dunbar. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Jerry spoke, but Jim still couldn't make out any words. "Hello," he repeated, raising his voice. "I'm Detective Dunbar. Can I talk to you for a minute? What's your name?"

Jerry began speaking more loudly and distinctly, but still didn't respond to Jim's questions. "It is today, today is the day, where is the sign?" he said.

Then he looked up and noticed Jim for the first time. He jumped up from the bench in excitement. "The blind man! The sign!" He went back to his bench and began rummaging in his backpack. Then he pulled out a large kitchen knife and began waving it in the air, tracing words or figures which were meaningful only to him.

Marty saw Jerry pull out the knife and yelled a warning. "_Dunbar! Knife!_"

When he heard Marty's yell, Jim began backing away from the bench. As Marty sprinted the fifty yards to Jim, Jerry began walking toward him, still waving the knife in the air and repeating, "It's a sign, a sign, come to the One, the One."

When Marty reached Jim, he drew his gun and stepped in front of Jim and Hank, placing himself between them and Jerry. He pointed his gun at Jerry and ordered him to put the knife down, but Jerry did not respond. Instead, he continued waving the knife and walking toward Jim and Marty, repeating, "A sign, a sign, come to the One."

"He's coming toward us," Marty told Jim quietly. "Let's retreat. I don't want to have to shoot the guy."

Jim nodded his agreement. As they backed up, Jerry continued to walk toward them with the knife.

"Sir," Marty spoke to Jerry, "you need to put the knife down _now_."

Jim added, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing, "We're not going to hurt you, no one's going to hurt you, but you have to put the knife down."

They continued to retreat, alternately imploring and ordering Jerry to put the knife down, until Jim's foot hit something behind them. "What's that?" he asked Marty.

Marty turned to look behind them. "Damn," he said, "it's the fence around the playground. We've got nowhere to go."

Jerry seemed to be unaware they had stopped. He continued to walk toward them, still waving the knife and mumbling about "the One."

"You need to put the knife down," Jim told him, "We won't hurt you, we'll take you to the One, but you gotta put the knife down."

Jerry kept moving toward them. When he was about five feet away, Marty ordered him, one last time, "_Stop_. Put the knife down_ now_."

Jerry kept coming. At the last minute, he seemed to see Marty and the gun pointed at him, and he lunged toward Marty. Marty fired his gun. Jerry crumpled to the ground.

"_Marty! What happened?_"

"He came at me with the knife," Marty answered. "Shit, I think I killed him."

_Scene Two_

Four hours later, Karen was sitting at her desk, trying not to re-live her panic when she heard a shot coming from the area where she'd left Jim. What was she thinking, leaving him alone like that? When they heard the shot, she and Tom raced to the south end of the park, to find Marty and Jim grim and white-faced. She gazed in shock and horror at Jerry lying face-down on the ground, handcuffed and bleeding. Jim was already calling in the shooting and asking for a 'bus.' The paramedics arrived within a few minutes. They determined Jerry was alive, quickly stabilized him, and transported him to the hospital. Lt. Fisk and the officer-involved shooting team arrived soon afterwards. The team immediately separated Marty and Jim and escorted them from the scene to be questioned separately about the incident. After the team determined Tom and Karen had not witnessed the shooting, they were allowed to return to the squad with Lt. Fisk.

She looked up and saw Jim returning to the squad. She had never seen him look so exhausted. She understood why. She watched him closely as he made his way to his desk. Instead of releasing Hank when they arrived in the squad, Jim let the dog guide him all the way to his desk, something Karen hadn't seen him do since his first days in the squad. After he found his chair and sat down, he took off his dark glasses, and rested his chin on his folded hands. He turned in her direction. "Karen?" he asked.

"I'm here. You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

Karen knew he wasn't fine, but she didn't have the heart to press him. Not now. She simply answered, "Yeah, I'm all right."

"Any news about the guy who was shot?" Jim asked.

"It looks like he's going to make it. Bullet was in the upper chest, but they say it missed all the vital organs."

"Thank God."

"Yeah," Karen agreed. Then she asked, "How's Marty?"

Jim shook his head. "I have no idea. They kept us separate the whole time. You know, that's the drill in this kind of case. They ordered me not to talk to him until the investigation is complete. And he'll be off the job, on 'administrative leave,' until then."

Lt. Fisk emerged from his office. "Jim," he called.

Jim made his way to Fisk's office more slowly than usual. He found one of the chairs and stood behind it, waiting. "Have a seat, Jim," Fisk told him.

Jim sat down gratefully.

"How're you doing?" Fisk asked, looking concerned at Jim's tired and strained appearance.

"I'm fine."

Fisk looked doubtful, but accepted Jim's answer. "What happened out there?"

Jim told him. As he described the incident to Fisk, he realized that he knew most of what happened only because Marty had told him about it. He'd long ago resigned himself to having to rely on others to tell him about things he couldn't see for himself, but he never liked to be reminded of it. He briefly wondered what would have happened if Marty hadn't been nearby, but he resolved not to think about that, either. It was yet another unwanted and unneeded reminder that he couldn't do the things he used to do, could never again be the cop he used to be.

"Jim?" Fisk's voice intruded on his thoughts. "Anything else?"

"Wha – ?" Startled and a little embarrassed to be caught zoning out, Jim concluded his account of the incident. "The guy totally wigged out on us, boss. Marty had no choice."

"Sounds like a righteous shooting to me," Fisk agreed.

"How's Marty doing?" Jim asked.

"I was only allowed to speak with him briefly, but you know Marty, I'm sure he's madder than hell."

"Yeah." Jim bowed his head, then changed the subject. "What do you know about the crazy guy?"

"Name's Jerry. He's a street person, basically lives in the park in warm weather. Long history of mental illness, but everyone always thought he was harmless before this. A couple of uniforms talked to him a couple of days ago, when someone reported he was acting strange. He wasn't taking his meds, of course. They decided he wasn't dangerous and didn't take him in to mental health."

"Great." Jim shook his head in disbelief.

"You know, Jim," Fisk said after a moment, "we're not going to be able to keep this incident in house, and when the press finds out you were involved. . . .well, you know what it's going to be like."

Jim nodded, looking grim.

Fisk continued. "One other thing: the people who think you shouldn't be a detective haven't gone away. I'm already hearing rumblings that they're going to try to use this to keep you from going out in the field. You need to be prepared for that. I'll do what I can, but there's only so much I can do."

Jim looked resigned. "Thanks, boss." He stood to leave.

As Jim turned to walk out, Fisk added, "Why don't you head home now? I called your wife to let her know you're okay, but she's going to want to see for herself. We can pick up the Wilson investigation in the morning."

Jim stopped and turned toward Fisk. "Thanks," he said again as he walked out of the office and back to his desk.

_Scene Three_

Marty sat on his living room couch, drinking a beer as he replayed the day's events in his head. He knew the shooting was justified, but somehow that knowledge didn't make things any easier. At least he hadn't killed the guy. He wondered how long he'd have to stay in the limbo of 'administrative leave.' And Dunbar – what was he thinking, interviewing a crazy guy by himself? What was Karen thinking, leaving him alone in that situation? Until today, Marty had succeeded pretty well in suppressing his doubts about the whole Dunbar business, because he knew it wouldn't do any good – Dunbar wasn't going anywhere. But maybe they all needed this reminder not to get too comfortable with the idea of working with a blind guy.

The downstairs buzzer interrupted his thoughts. It was Tom.

"How you doin'?" Tom asked as he walked in and sat in the chair opposite the couch.

"Am I allowed to talk to you?" Marty asked. "Are you even supposed to be here?"

"I'm your union delegate, remember?" Tom reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

"So, how you doin'?" Tom asked again.

"I'm okay. I mean, I'm not really worried about the investigation. It was a righteous shooting. The guy was definitely seeing and hearing things we weren't – well, Dunbar wasn't seeing them, of course, but neither was I. And that knife could have done some serious damage." Marty frowned and shook his head.

"Well, something's bugging you. C'mon, out with it."

"It's Dunbar." Tom gave him a look, as if to say, "So what's new?"

"I was just thinking, you know, if I hadn't been there, he wouldn't even have known the guy had a knife, until it was too late. I mean, what are we _doing_, going out in the field with a blind guy? Have we all lost our minds?"

"You know, Marty, this didn't happen because Jim's blind. You would have had his back even if he could see."

"I know. I'm not blaming him for the fact that I had to shoot the guy. It just got me started thinking again. I don't understand why Dunbar insists on going out in the field. Look what could have happened today. It's all ego with him – proving he's still a kick-ass cop. We shouldn't have to pay the price for that, none of us."

"I'm not sure that's – " Tom began.

But Marty was on a roll. "Besides, what can he do at a crime scene, anyway? We have to describe everything to him. We could do that just as well back at the squad. He doesn't have to be there, for crissake."

"Well, as I was saying, I'm not so sure it's only about ego. I mean, you know the saying: don't judge a man until you walk a mile in his shoes."

Marty snorted. "Then I won't be passing judgment on Dunbar any time soon. I don't even want to think about being in his shoes." Marty paused, a pained look on his face, then continued. "But I still think it's crazy for him to be going out in the field with us. I'm right about this, you know I am."

"Yeah. I know." Tom agreed.

_Scene Four_

"Christie?" Jim called as he walked in his front door. There was no response. Relieved that his wife wasn't home yet, Jim took off Hank's harness and made his way to the couch. It was only 4 p.m., but he was wiped out. He felt as if he'd pulled a double tour. Now he was dreading Christie's arrival. Until her recent outburst in Dr. Cohen's office, he hadn't realized how anxious she still was about his safety on the job. Today's events were sure to set her off. Thank God Lt. Fisk had called her. Jim couldn't imagine dealing with her if she'd found out about the incident on the news.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he felt for the remote and turned on the TV. It was merely background noise until he heard his own name. The newscaster was talking about the shooting. Then a "talking head" (Jim assumed) was introduced as a "police expert" and started pontificating about whether Jim should be working as a detective. "Officer safety," the "expert" was saying, "has to come first. The NYPD, and Detective Dunbar, were very lucky today." He continued, patronizingly, "No one has more respect than I do for Detective Dunbar and what he did, but he should not be working in the field." Jim had heard enough. He turned off the TV in disgust.

He got a beer from the fridge and returned to the couch, thinking about the day's events. Try as he might, he couldn't escape a feeling of guilt that Marty was the one sitting at home on "administrative leave." If he still had his sight, he would have been the one to do the shooting, not Marty. Or maybe he could have found a way to avoid having to shoot the guy at all. In spite of his feelings of guilt, Jim was thankful that Marty had been nearby when Jerry pulled the knife out of his backpack. Jim's blood ran cold when he realized he might not have known about the knife until it was too late, if Marty hadn't been there. And he didn't want to think about what could have happened if Marty hadn't had his back.

He heard the front door open. "Jimmy?" Christie called from the entry hall.

"Over here."

Christie sat beside him on the couch, put her arms around him, and kissed him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jim said automatically.

"You don't look fine," she countered, "you look tired."

"I am," Jim conceded.

"You want to talk about what happened?"

Relieved but puzzled that the expected emotional outburst hadn't materialized, Jim gave her a version of the day's events that minimized their danger. Still, there was no hiding the fact that Jerry had a knife, and Marty had to shoot him.

"God, Jimmy, that's terrible," she commented when he concluded. She rubbed his back. "I think you need another beer."

As she stood up, Jim grabbed her hand. She turned to look at him. "You're not mad at me?" he asked.

"No, why would I be?"

"I just thought, after what you said at Dr. Cohen's . . . ."

"Of course I was worried about you. I worry about you every day. I'm your wife, it's in the job description."

"I don't understand . . . ," he began, a puzzled look on his face.

"I"m not going to get mad at you for doing your job. I worry about you. I've learned to accept that I'm going to worry. What upsets me is when I feel like you're going out there and being reckless, taking unnecessary risks. You weren't doing that today, were you?"

No, I wasn't," he assured her.

"Then I'm not mad at you."

When she returned with his beer, she rubbed his back again, then asked, "Will there be . . . repercussions?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. The lieutenant warned me there are still people who don't think I should be a detective, who will try to use this to keep me from going out in the field."

"Can they do that?"

"If they make it a safety issue, yeah."

"What will you do?"

He turned to her, a look of desolation on his face. "If they won't let me do my job, I don't know what I'll do. I can't give that up, too." He bowed his head and rested his chin his hands as Christie put her arms around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Episode 18: "Officer-involved Shooting"

_Day Two_

_Scene One_

Jim sat next to the windows in the locker room, waiting for his coffee to cool and gathering his strength for what promised to be a trying day. Running a gauntlet of reporters outside the precinct, while repeating "no comment, no comment," was not the way he wanted to start the work day.

Karen stuck her head in the door and called softly, "Jim?"

"Yeah, over here."

"Boss wants to see you in his office." She hesitated before adding, " . . . the Chief of Ds is there."

"Okay, I'll be right there." Jim took a deep breath and headed for Lt. Fisk's office. A tête-à-tête with the Chief of Ds wasn't the way he wanted to begin his day, either.

He knocked on Fisk's office door and was told to enter. "Chief Tunney is here, Jim," Fisk told him.

"So I was told," replied Jim. He extended his hand, hoping he was extending it in the Chief's direction. "Good morning, Chief."

"Good morning, Detective," Tunney responded, taking Jim's hand. "I'm sure it's no surprise that I'm here because of the incident yesterday . . ."

"No, sir," Jim replied, shifting to face the Chief.

". . . or that concerns about your safety in the field have arisen because of it. There is a lot of sentiment in the Department in favor of taking you out of the field and assigning you to desk duty."

Tunney paused, looking first at Fisk, then at Jim. When neither of them said anything, Tunney continued, "In deference to your record and your experience, I am not taking that step at this time. However, when you are out in the field, you are to be accompanied at all times by your partner or another officer. No more going solo. I've had to go to too many cops' funerals. I don't want to have to go to yours. Is that clear, Detective?"

Jim swallowed hard before responding. "Yes, sir."

Tunney looked at Fisk, who dismissed Jim. "That's all, Jim. You can go."

Jim turned and walked out of Fisk's office, back to his desk.

"What was that about?" Karen asked.

Jim pressed his lips together and turned toward her. "I'm sure the boss will be telling you any time now," he said. His voice had a bitter tone Karen had rarely heard.

A few minutes later, Tunney walked out of Fisk's office, followed by the lieutenant. "Karen, Tom, Jim," he called, "my office, please."

Tom and Karen exchanged a glance, and Karen looked thoughtfully at Jim as the three detectives crossed the squad room to Fisk's office. Once they had entered, and Jim closed the door behind them, Fisk began. "As you know, the Chief of Ds was just here. Because of yesterday's incident, the Chief has ordered Jim not to work on his own when he's in the field. Karen, you or another officer is to be with him at all times."

"But, boss – " Karen began.

Fisk held up a hand to stop her. "I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. The Chief made it clear this is not open for discussion. That's all," he said sternly.

When they left Fisk's office, Karen and Tom turned toward their desks, but Jim went in the opposite direction, toward the locker room. Tom gave Karen a questioning look. She returned the look, then followed Jim. She found him standing next to his locker, drumming his fingers on the door.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, what do you want?" he snapped.

"Jim, I – " she began.

He cut her off. "I guess you're wishing you'd asked the boss to reconsider our arrangement when you had the chance, huh?" The bitter tone was back in his voice.

"No, I told you I'd be your partner, no matter what, and I meant it."

"Yeah, but you didn't know you were going to have to babysit the blind guy."

"Look, Jim, we work together most of the time, anyway," she pointed out, trying to reason with him. "Nothing's really going to change because of this."

Her reasonable tone seemed to get through to Jim. He sighed and turned toward her. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. But. . . ." He shook his head in resignation. "I just want to do my job."

Karen studied her partner. She had never seen him like this, and she didn't know what to say. In the months she and Jim had worked together, she had been so preoccupied with learning how to work with him and working their cases, that she had never stopped to think about what Jim had had to give up, and the compromises he'd had to make, since losing his sight. Even when he decided to stop carrying a gun, she hadn't fully appreciated what those losses meant. Now she did.

"It'll work out. We'll make it work," she assured him.

"Thanks, Karen. Give me a minute, will you?"

She left him standing by his locker and went back to her desk.

_Scene Two_

Jim, Karen, and Tom spent the rest of the morning doing follow-up on the murder of 'Fast Eddie' Wilson. After a couple of hours working the phones, they had learned more about Wilson, but not much that would tell them who killed him, or why. Fisk came out of his office and handed Tom a sheaf of papers. "Search warrant came through on Wilson's apartment. Tom, Karen, I want you to get over there. And make sure crime scene covers all the bases."

After Karen and Tom left, Fisk went over to Jim's desk and leaned over to speak to him. "Jim," he said, "you know my sending Karen and Tom to execute the search warrant didn't have anything to do with what happened yesterday."

"I know, boss," Jim replied, with a tight, humorless smile. "Sending me would be a waste of time. But thanks." He turned back to his computer and began writing up his reports on the morning's work.

_Scene Three_

Karen and Tom finished the search of Wilson's apartment and headed back to the squad. As they walked down the hall toward the squad room, they continued the discussion they'd begun in the car on the way back.

"I'm just saying," Tom asserted, "A guy like that shouldn't be out on the streets."

"What, you want to put him in jail? He wouldn't last a week. He's sick, Tom, not a criminal."

"I know. But there are hospitals – "

Karen interrupted him. "The hospitals don't keep people like him for more than a few days. Then they're back on the streets. C'mon, don't you remember when you were in uniform? You take someone in to mental health, and three days later, he's right back where he was before."

"Yeah, I know, but there are clinics and places where they can go to get their meds, right?"

"Get real, Tom," Karen scoffed. "Someone like Jerry's not going to take his meds if he doesn't have to. You know that."

"I guess so, but where's his family? Why do they let him live on the streets like that?"

"You know, Tom, you really have no idea what you're talking about." Karen reached her desk and threw down her notebook. Without speaking to Jim, she turned and stalked into interview room two, closing the door behind her.

Jim turned around. "Tom?"

"Yeah, right here."

"What was that all about?"

"You got me," Tom replied. "We were talking in the car on the way back about Jerry, you know, the crazy guy Marty shot yesterday. I don't know what set her off."

"Where'd she go?"

"Room two."

Looking concerned, Jim headed to the interview room. He knocked softly, then opened the door. "Karen?"

She was sitting at the table with her head in her hands. When she heard Jim's knock, she looked up. "Yeah, I'm here."

"You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked, keeping his voice low and undemanding.

"Not really."

"Karen – "

"All right, all right, but this stays between us, okay?"

"Sure."

"I have a brother, did you know that?" Jim shook his head, but she didn't wait for his response. The words seemed to spill out of her. "His name is Stephen. He's my big brother, seven years older than me. When we were growing up, he used to tease me all the time, but he looked out for me, too, never let anyone else give me a hard time. I always looked up to him. . . ." Her voice broke.

She took a deep breath, then continued. "When he was in college, he started to change. At first, my parents thought he was just acting weird because, well, because he was a college kid. Then he dropped out of college. By that time, he was acting really strange and saying things that didn't make any sense. When he told my parents he was hearing voices, they freaked out. I was just a kid – still in middle school – so I didn't understand a lot of this at the time. I just knew something was terribly wrong with my big brother. . "

"Was it – schizophrenia?" Jim asked gently.

Karen nodded. "That was the diagnosis. My parents tried to help him, they really did. They got him to go to the hospital, and the doctors put him on meds. But he hated them. He said they made him feel like a zombie. The doctors would change his meds, but he said the new ones were just as bad. He'd stop taking them and disappear for days or weeks at a time. I think he was drinking a lot and maybe taking street drugs, too – you know, self-medicating."

She stood up, walked to the widows, and looked out. "The last time he came home was two years ago. We got him to go back to the hospital, but they didn't keep him there. When they discharged him, he disappeared. We haven't seen him since. He's somewhere out there, on the streets. Or maybe he's in prison, or dead. We just don't know. Every time we go someplace like the park, where homeless people hang out, I'm always looking for him, wondering where he is and if he's all right."

Jim walked toward her and stood behind her. "God, Karen, I am so sorry. . . .And what happened yesterday. . ."

She had to swallow before she could answer. "Yeah, that was hard. When I saw Jerry lying there. . . I knew it wasn't Stephen, but all I could think of was him."

"Are you okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I just need a few minutes by myself. And thanks."

"Sure." Jim left the room and went back to his desk.

"So – you gonna to tell me what's going on?" Tom asked.

Jim shook his head. "Sorry, but no." He sat down at his desk and brought a hand up to his mouth, thinking.

_Epilogue_

_Scene One_

On Marty's first day back from leave after the officer-involved shooting team ruled the shooting was justified, Fisk called the squad into his office.

"We're back at full strength now. Let's keep it that way. Tom, you get Marty up to speed on what's gone on during his little vacation."

"Okay, boss."

Oh, and Marty, the Chief of Ds has ordered Jim not to work on his own in the field. That means one of you three has to be with him at all times. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Marty replied, giving Tom an "I told you so" look.

Jim clenched his jaw. Anxious to change the subject, he asked, "Have they found out anything more about Jerry?"

"Yeah," Fisk answered. "It's a pretty sad story. He's a college graduate, an engineer, if you can believe it. He was married and had a kid. He had some kind of breakdown and was hospitalized when he was in his twenties. He's been in and out of hospitals and jails ever since then. His record is mainly misdemeanors, nothing violent. His wife and family tried to help him, but it was too much for them, I guess. He wouldn't take his meds, and when he was off them, he'd take off and disappear."

"What happens to him now?" Karen asked.

"They're going to keep him in the hospital for the time being. The DA hasn't decided whether to file. Based on what Jim told me, it sounds like he was having delusions at the time of the shooting." Jim nodded his agreement. Fisk continued, "They'll make sure he takes his meds while he's in the hospital, but he probably won't once he's released."

"So they'll just put him back out on the street?" Karen demanded. "So the same thing can happen again? Only the next time, maybe he'll end up dead." Fisk, Tom, and Marty stared at her, shocked at her outburst. Jim bowed his head, looking somber.

"Yeah," Fisk replied. "Probably. It's not our call. That's all."

Karen Marty, and Tom filed toward the door. Jim waited to follow them. Before Karen got to the door, Fisk addressed her. "Wait a minute, Karen," he said, gesturing to her to stay. "Close the door behind you, Jim."

After Jim closed the door, Fisk asked her, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm all right."

"Look," Fisk persisted, "there's been a lot going on, with the shooting and all. If you need anything, you let me know."

"Thanks, but I'm okay, really."

"All right. Have Jim come in, will you?"

When she got back to her desk, Karen told Jim, "Your turn. Boss wants to see you."

Jim entered the office. "Close it," Fisk ordered.

Jim complied and turned back toward Fisk. "What the hell is happening with your partner, Jim?" Fisk asked.

Jim frowned, looking uncomfortable. "She's okay, boss – just a little on edge, you know, because of the shooting. She'll be fine."

"We can get Psych Services in, if she needs it."

Jim turned his face away from Fisk as he considered how to respond. Finally, he said, "Karen can handle it, boss," seeming to reassure himself as much as Fisk.

Fisk sighed, looking doubtful. "If that changes, I want to know about it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Close the door on your way out."

_Scene Two_

Late in the afternoon, Jim sought out Marty and found him in the locker room. He was standing by the windows with a cup of coffee.

"Marty?" he called out as he walked in.

"Over here."

Jim approached him. "I just wanted to say thanks – for having my back."

"No problem."

"Oh, and welcome back, by the way. This place just isn't the same without you," Jim told him, with a wry grin.

"Thanks." Marty paused, looking thoughtful. "You know, Jim, maybe this whole business wasn't such a bad thing."

"Why do you say that?" Jim asked warily.

"Well, it's been kind of a wake-up call, you know. . . ."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you think we were all getting just a little too complacent?"

"About what?"

"About – well, about the fact that you're going out there – and you can't see. I mean, Karen even seems to forget that you're blind, sometimes."

"Well, I don't," Jim said, sharply.

"No, I guess not," Marty replied, looking uncharacteristically solemn. After a moment, he continued, "But, you know, the Chief's order for one of us to be with you when you're in the field isn't such a bad idea. I mean, think of what could have happened that day if I wasn't close by."

"Thank you for the reminder," Jim told him sarcastically.

"Look, I'm just saying – "

Jim interrupted him. "Sorry to disappoint you, Marty, but I'm not going to give the brass an excuse to bounce me out of here."

"Damn, I thought we were finally gonna get lucky," Marty retorted as he turned and walked out.


End file.
